PRINCE & PRINCESS
by rockdogravi
Summary: A three-drabble story series, inspired by the single of the same name by Versailles-Philharmonic Quintet-. I own nothing except the plot. written in 2009
1. PRINCE

Title: Prince  
Author: Mellodramattic

Pairings: hinted Jasmine/Yuki; friendship Kamijo/Hizaki.

Warnings: Angst, some tragedy.

Summary: (Jealousy -- the Prince was superior; Kamijo was alone.)

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Kamijo, Hizaki, Jasmine You, Teru, Yuki, or Versailles-Philharmonic Quintet-. I merely write drabbles; this one is for the fifteenth birthday of my soulmate, Hannah N. Johnson.

* * *

**PRINCE**  
by Mellodramattic

Stupid man.

It was the _hospital_, and they were in _France_, and Kamijo didn't know how to drive; it was near the _Louvre_, Kamijo laughed wildly to himself in disbelief, and tried to put the damn car in reverse. Fucking stick shift--

Kamijo had received a beautiful car on his eighteenth birthday, a fabulous black automatic Porsche, and he treasured it beyond this absolute _piece of shit _dear Jasmine, lover of vehicles, had loaned him. (Never mind that Kamijo had quietly wrecked it not long after; he had always been a terrible driver.)

_Jasmine _-- he sobbed. Always lecturing Kamijo for being a reckless fool, an inevitable massacre, and yet he himself now lovingly crumpled his BMW and his bones. Physician, heal thyself. Your waiting room overflows.

_Kamijo, _screamed his roses. _Yuuji, _shouted his friends. _Dear Princess,_ sang his phone, and when he picked it up, Hizaki calmly told him to take a taxicab.

"Of course_,"_ agreed Kamijo's bodiless voice. "What did you think I was doing?" (Silence -- the Prince was always dependable.)

----

"Kamijo?"

He clutched his pale face in his feminine hands, rocking back and forth as he remembered dead fingers, mangled feet, broken eyes. He pictured the small bloody thing in a trash bag, still shuddering, and he thought of its ancestors -- a bloody bundle flushed down a toilet; wrapped in lace. His history of the other side.

"Kamijo!"

He saw Hizaki, but he _didn't_; Kamijo closed his eyes and refused to look. An invite to immortality -- stupid, _foolish_ man, he'd let this happen again? Imbecile.

It was his fault, and yet he blamed her; cockroach. They desired his money, his fame, his body, and when he gave them _himself_, they laugh and destroy him from the inside. Second fear, another descendant; third fury, another destruction. He was an idol.

"Kamijo! Are you alright?"

"I think I'm done with women," Kamijo admitted with a bitter laugh. "Or, at least -- they certainly seem to be done with me."

Hizaki laughed and didn't understand. (Kamijo didn't mind -- the Prince was indestructible.)

----

He sat quietly as the hospital president ranted at him, ranted and raved and Kamijo sat and quietly considered the cracks in the floor.

"I apologize sincerely," said the Prince, and excused the silly behavior as simple immaturity -- his silly, _irresponsible_ boys -- and it would never happen again. When the president shook Kamijo's hand, he squeezed with a dark smile; the Prince said nothing.

The Prince sat quietly in the vomit-colored waiting room, calmly watching over his roses: Hizaki, Teru. Sullen Yuki was thereafter banned from this hospital of hell; already dead, unrevivable. The rock lacked its Jasmine bass.

Kamijo said nothing, and quietly hooked Jasmine back up to his I.V., and Jasmine smiled and waved off Yuki's verdict as his own silly whim; Kamijo admired his loyalty.

(Jealousy -- the Prince was superior; Kamijo was alone.)

----

The Prince was dependable, responsible, intelligent, indestructible. The Prince was above and beyond human emotions. The Prince never lost his temper, never bore tears, never made a silly mistake at the expense of him, or of others. The Prince was their leader.

The Prince was Kamijo.

Kamijo wasn't the Prince.


	2. PRINCESS

Title: PRINCESS  
Author: Mellodramattic  
Pairings: Implied one-sided KamijoxHizaki.  
Warnings: Angst, sarcasm, sexual themes, mild language.  
Summary:_ I'm not your Princess,_ I remind him, and he merely laughs and offers me alcohol.

Disclaimer: I do not own Kamijo, Hizaki, Jasmine You, Teru, Yuki, or Versailles-Philharmonic Quintet-. I merely write drabbles; this one is for the fifteenth birthday of my soulmate, Hannah N. Johnson.

* * *

**PRINCESS**  
by Mellodramattic

"My name is Kamijo."

His name is Kamijo Yuuji, most imaginative aristocrat: long ago, they called him Prince as a joke, and now he laughs in irony and decadence. Such a silly man, always playing with the roses (and his cape).

He prances -- sorry, Prince Vocalist -- and laughs and tries to change a baby rabbit into a prince; such a silly man, and finally he gives up, bunny-turned-boy stepping aside for drums.

"Yuki-ani! Teru-kichi!"

Always teasing little boys; he acts like a pervert, and later I find him wasted on the couch, depressed, surrounded by bottles and liquor and blood. He really should be more careful of broken glass, and then he laughs at me and kisses my hands.

"Princess--"

I hit him when he gets to bold, as men are wont to do; _I'm not your Princess_, I remind him, and he merely laughs and offers me alcohol. Such a silly man, and when I take the intoxication away from him he smiles at me and says to protect my pretty princess hands; I offer him his clothes.

"Versailles!"

The name of our masterpiece -- of our family -- of our excuse; yet he disregards my warnings and lives, and sings, and kisses, and when he drunkenly puts his hands in inexcusable places, I pity him and don't protest (because he never remembers in the morning).

"Thank you, DC!"

Enthusiastic as always, the idiot, and because he begs and begs I give in and drink, and as I do I feel as if we've made a huge mistake; and when he complains to me of hatred and plummeting sales, I remind him of vodka, and he becomes quiet and works hard once more. Jasmine can hardly keep up in his dresses.

"PRINCE & PRINCESS is ready!!"

I let him tease me and don't say a word, and let everyone speculate on the exact meaning of Prince and Princess. _Dearest flower,_ he whispers in my ear, and I smile and push him away and ignore his mocking laugh. Such a silly man, and yet what a bastard. I have to remind him of his boundaries.

"Please, Hizaki, let's go for the top now!"

His name is Kamijo Yuuji, but he acknowledges only his surname; and so sometimes I say, _Ji-ji_, and he makes faces and creates a fuss, and in the end laughs and says it's lucky I'm the princess, or else he'd have to punish me. I calmly tell him to shut up and fuck me already. Such a silly man, but I don't love him.

Silly human error.


	3. SILENT KNIGHT

Title: Silent Knight  
Author: Mellodramattic

Pairings: some Kaworu/Teru.

Warnings: Angst, sexual themes, mild language, hinted child abuse.

Summary: He is Teru, and they adore him, and they take care of him, and when they make a fuss, he knows it is with simple love. But it didn't begin that way. It never does, does it?

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Aikaryu, Kamijo, Hizaki, Jasmine You, Teru, Yuki, or Versailles-Philharmonic Quintet-. I merely write drabbles; this one is for the fifteenth birthday of my soulmate, Hannah N. Johnson.

* * *

**  
SILENT KNIGHT**

by Mellodramattic

He is a guitarist.

He is the subordinate: the little boy in his even smaller shorts. They color and recolor his hair, and sometimes he barely recognizes the same silly boy from the past -- for him, that boy exists no longer. That boy is a child's mere invention, the long-ago nightmare of an idol.

He is Teru, and they adore him, and they take care of him, and when they make a fuss, he knows it is with simple love.

But it didn't begin that way. It never does, does it?

----

He is 7, and they beat him for his abnormality, his _insolence._

He was an unwanted creature, the bastard production of that foolish woman-- he never knew her name either, what did it matter to him? For he was no more a part of them than they were of him. All he needed to remember was the painful smack of the belt, the numbness of the spade. He doesn't bother to keep track of the bruises.

It was only of truly miraculous circumstance that they decided to end him, to throw him out of the car and beneath the bridge. Yet as he lay, slowly sinking in the water, without a struggle, he quietly hears a trickle of music--

_Why do people believe in God?_

When he is rescued by strangers, they are surprised to see his happy tears.

----

He is 12, and each night he is blessed with nightmares.

Blazing fire, red carpet -- a symphony accompaniment, and a court of beautiful roses: prince and princess. He is frightened of the swirling silver eyes; more so than ever he had been of his tormentors.

"What is your name, my dearest?" they moan to him, begging, pleading, and he has nothing to give them; for he always gives all he has, and each time crumbles from the inside. And yet they still demand of him, still violate, and so--

He calls himself _Teru._

And when they shower him with gifts, he finds a cheap, white electric guitar.

And he begins to believe in God.

-----

He is 17, and he is Teru, and Kaworu calls him an artist.

"You're going to be someone important," Kaworu croons to him that low, husky voice as he traces Teru's naked hipbone with fumbling fingers (for he had not the elegance of a guitarist).

"Is that right?" laughs Teru in that babyish giggle, for Kaworu teases often. "Be cautious, then -- perhaps I am a prince in disguise. I might have you jailed for doing such things to me." But Kaworu's eyes are quiet, serious, and Teru stops laughing.

"Perhaps you are," whispers Kaworu seriously, his breath hot on Teru's mouth, and then he grins and leans down for a kiss; so Teru says nothing, and -- as was his job -- obliges.

[That night he wakes and dares sleep no more, for he fears his Majesty's blazing decadence, and hypnotic silver eyes.]

-----

He is 22, and he pretends he's onstage, but really he's back in the smelting furnace; only this time it's their car, and he's laughing in irony, and it smells of burning flesh and roses.

"Are you alright?!" they scream, the fools, the lost boys, and he ignores them; for once, his life is in his hands, for once he is able to act. He quietly walks out on them, quietly ruins his brilliant musical career, and there is enough music playing through his head that he cannot hear them. How convenient -- a blackness on his eyes, and he slumps to the ground, and the drums shatter bones.

When he wakes up next he's in a white room, a room of suffering, a room of irritating beeps, and his eyes are unaccustomed to the brightness; it hurts. It takes him a second to see the men dozing in the ridiculously uncomfortable plastic chairs, and when he does he realizes with a shock that it is _them, his court--_

And when Kamijo smiles and reveals normal irises, Teru agrees to play for him.

----

He is the little prince, the prodigal son, the monarchy's near-forgotten prodigy, lapdog. He is their plaything, their masterpiece -- _To this future, _sings the Prince, the King; _to this future_ repeats quiet Teru to himself, and smiles. And finally--

silent knight.


End file.
